The Worst of Humanity
by Jhiz
Summary: The Codex read that if the Slayer went to face the Master that she would die. Nothing ever said that the Master would be the cause. Death is the starting point for this tale of divergent destiny and godly gifts. Although the tale begins at the end of Season One, it scuttles sideways and provides a divergent Season Two. (Elysian Fields Challenge so ultimately expect Spike)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So here goes... my attempt at a Buffy tale. This is Canon Divergent and is my take on a challenge I read on Elysian Fields. It was proposed by Puppet and was termed the Worst of Humanity. If you wish to read the challenge, you can find it on the previously mentioned site. Otherwise, I will post the criterion for the challenge later so that any quirks in the tale remain at least a wee bit of a surprise. I hope that you enjoy it. - Me**

* * *

The Worst of Humanity

The Vacuity existed outside of time in a space known only to those of true power. Even the beings long entombed in the Deeper Well knew little of the potential powers which existed in the confines of the vast nothing that existed at both the beginning and the end of time simultaneously. A kaleidoscope of colors more vivid and varied than any rainbow dreamed of approaching shimmered and swirled into the dark nothingness.

"It is time," pulsed the light with an excitement that would remind a nostalgic human of the grandly anticipated arrival of Christmas morning in the voice of a cherub-faced innocent.

For a moment, the darkness seemed to swell in answer. "Why do you care?" it whispered into actuality without need of form for creation.

"The Father sent a Son across every existence... why can I not have a daughter in just this one?"

A chuckle thundered in a swelling crescendo until the deafening sound and the dancing light suddenly disappeared as abruptly as it appeared.

* * *

Three clusters of handsome, well dressed, young men waited patiently in the subterranean worship site under the innocuous seeming Delta Zeta Kappa fraternity house. Upstairs, young college students went about their daily business of studying or relaxing as the need fit. Rumbling music from no less than six different sources and of equally varied styles greeted the residents as they moved through the richly decorated home situated on the edge of the Crestwood College campus. No expense was spared in the decoration or the personal property of the entitled brothers who were following in the illustrious footsteps of the fathers, uncles and grandfathers. In the torch lit chambers in the bowels of the fraternity, several collections of quietly murmuring members discussed the evenings plans. Each group contained seven prospects. Silence settled across the room as a casually arrogant man descended the steps. The tall, lanky blond reached the last stone step and gazed fondly around the dimly lit chamber.

"Brothers," he solemnly intoned. "Graduation is nearly upon us and it is time to pass the mantel of responsibility from those who are moving onto the prosperity promised us by our birthright and duty to the great Machida."

"Blessed be his name," responded the assembled fraternity brothers.

Their leader smiled benevolently at the young men. Everything was as he had anticipated and the current high priest of the brotherhood anticipated grand displays given the dedication of the assembled believers.

"Tonight, you will compete to determine who will be blessed with the leadership of tomorrow," the confident young man instructed.

The three groups cheered and nudged each other companionably. Each was sure that their group would win the competition and receive the honor of placement in the inner court. In the one group, a dark haired young man turned to one of his closest friends. Tom offered Richard an arrogant smirk. They knew they were going to win with what they had devised. They had been planning for weeks and had already secured all the supplies needed. Everything was just waiting in the old garage behind the fraternity house for the moment of use. It would be a fitting testament to their dedication to the giver of their families greatest gifts.

"Remember, the power and blessing of Machida will bloom in those whose hearts are open to his greatness. Show your depth of devotion and strength of your convictions with the fervor of your actions. Prove your place with your offering of destruction or defilement," the leader charged. His voice swelled in a zealot's benediction. "For Machida!"

"In his name," echoed through the rocky chamber.

* * *

"If we're lucky, we'll catch Buffy before she reaches The Master," Angel intoned softly with a worried flicker of his eyes towards the agitated youth following him through the same cemetery were the teen was first baptized into the world of the supernatural. Although the souled vampire originally felt unable to war against the power of prophesy, Xander's scathing yet ultimately honest and heartfelt words provided him the impetus to step beyond his doomed acceptance.

"Yeah..." the normally glib boy replied solemnly. In light of the prophesy foretelling the impending death of someone he loved, no jokes fell from Xander's mouth. His complete lack of ill-timed humor served to further slam home the serious thoughts of the two men. One searcher stood on the cusp of adulthood and the other stood unchanged in the years since his first death. Despite their inherent differences and unquestionable dislike for each other, the two rushed through the broken iron gate erected over the closest entrance from Angel's home to the electrical tunnels that networked the underbelly of Sunnydale. Together they would face the darkened passageway with a mutual goal foremost in their minds. They would do whatever they could to save Buffy Summers from the fate foretold in the Codex.

* * *

"GILES!" screamed Cordelia Chase from her position at the main doors to the library. Her cries, honed from her years of cheering, cut across the chaotic thunder of the converging vampires' attack. The flustered librarian rushed a quick foray into his office where he retrieved two wooden crosses and several bottles of holy water. Rapidly, Giles filled his pockets with the containers of blessed liquid. Just as rapidly, he ran from the office. He glanced over his shoulder to the stacks where Willow and Ms. Calender were successfully blocking the undeads' current attempts to gain access from that direction. At least for the present, that way was safe from invasion. Giles headed towards the eminent threat at the main library entrance. Hastily, the Brit slapped the wooden cross he wielded against the flailing vampire arm that was attempting to grab hold of the frightened cheerleader.

A sizzle and a puff of smoke accompanied the pained cry from the other side of the door before the viciously swinging arm retreated.

"Go help the others," Giles ordered Cordelia as he passed one of the crosses to the terrified young woman.

Quick to follow the direction from someone she hoped knew what he was doing, the pretty brunette practically flew across the damaged floor of the library and flung herself against the bookshelf barrier that the other females were already bracing. Her added weight helped secure the back entry from the fumbling rear attack.

With a deft movement, the rumpled librarian flicked the lid from the largest bottle of blessed water. When another hand crept through the broken window, it met with a soaking. Screams of agony accompanied the immediate withdrawal of the previously attacking appendage. Giles clutched the still three quarters full vampire agony in a bottle as he waited for another attack.

* * *

"I don't understand," the confused vampire whispered as he crouched by the entrance to the cave that housed The Master. Angel could feel the pulsing presence of his grand-sire within the darkened ruins beyond their current position. It made no sense to him why there had been no change in the head of the Aurelius clan's imprisonment. Angel had been sure that Buffy would have already arrived. "This is the only entrance to the lair but I can't smell Buffy anywhere."

Xander knelt beside his souled companion and stole a quick glance into the ruins of the collapsed church.

"Well, we got stuck and had to backtrack because of the tunnel collapse from the earthquake. Maybe Buffy had the same problem," the teen speculated as his gaze traveled around the rubble strewn tunnel. A dim light from the city maintained tunnels allowed the duo to see the obvious transition from inner maintenance structure to earthquake ruin.

Angel shook his head in denial.

"She was being led by the Anointed One. He would have known how to reach the entrance even with any blocked paths."

"Something is definitely off," Xander replied in the closest approximation to agreement that he would concede to the broody vampire.

"She has to pass us to reach The Master," the souled vampire simply stated as he hunched against the ravaged wall of rock. If Buffy was not here yet, Angel was not about to leave and risk missing her arrival. The Slayer had finally bravely embraced her destiny and Angel was sure she would face The Master soon.

With a sigh, the dark-haired youth settled into place beside his silent companion. All they could do was wait for Buffy to arrive. From their position, the two men who loved The Slayer stood sentry to the entry to her prophesy. Even if the Codex foretold of Buffy's death when the slayer had to face The Master that night, they would ensure that she did not face him alone. Each hoped that their presence would be enough to sway the force of fate.

* * *

The renewed attack that Giles anticipated never arrived. Minutes passed. No new hands groped aimlessly at the pile of office furniture and library supplies stacked by the entrance.

Just as quickly as it began, the sounds of impending doom disappeared from the school room. The converging vampires seemed to lose interest in the trapped foursome and crept back into the night. It was like they suddenly realized that there was easier prey somewhere else and that the compulsion to converge on the library had disappeared.

The only sound to remain was the ragged breaths of the four exhausted survivors. As the adrenaline dissipated from their bodies, the physical and emotional stress of the evening overwhelmed them. Shaken, the two teens and their two mentors settled into seats as they waited for the return of The Slayer and an answer to their burning questions about Buffy's battle with The Master.

* * *

"Giles... Giles... GILES!" Xander yelled from outside the blocked doors of the library.

At the sudden call, Rupert startled awake from his position at the large table in the center of the ransacked library. He lifted his head from its resting place on the wooden table and blinked several times in hopes of clearing his mind. Another frenzied call issued from the other side of the barricade. Fumbling for his glasses, Giles finally awoke enough to remember where he was and why he was there. A quick glance around the dimly lit room showed the first light of dawn filtering through the overhead windows. The visible sky was just lightening from the darkened black to the short-lived indigo that heralded the start of a glow on the horizon. Beside him at the table, Willow Rosenberg's red hair obscured her face as she slept with her head resting on her crossed arms. On the other side of the table, Jenny Calender also snoozed with her head cushioned on her arms and the table. Their third companion was curled into what Giles imagined to be a very painful ball on a chair near the steps leading to the stacks.

Stretching the muscle kink from his neck and correcting the position of his eye glasses, Giles moved towards the still barricaded entrance. He shuddered as the flustered teen yelled his name once more.

"Do be quiet, Xander," the exhausted Watcher ordered as he began to slowly remove the various items blocking the double doors. From behind him, Giles heard the other occupants of the library start to stir.

When the final item had been removed, the disheveled Brit barely had time to move from the doorway before the younger man barreled into the library. With fear evident in his face and body stance, Xander searched the occupants of the room. The teen's clothes were covered with dust and debris. A streak of dirt ran across his cheek where Xander had absently swiped his filthy hand across his tired face. His shoulders slumped even more at the disappointment that stabbed his already damaged reserve of hope.

"Buffy's not here, is she?" the teen demanded more than questioned.

Giles swallowed down the hopeless pain that had been burning in his stomach since he read the prophesy in the Codex. "She has not yet returned from facing The Master," the older man replied.

"Yeah? Well she never got to The Master. I know this little fact because I just spent the night huddled in a crummy cave waiting for her. And let me just say how not fun spending unending hours in the dark with the brooding Dead Boy is," blustered Xander as he absently tried to wipe the grime and dirt from his hands. The attempt was fruitless since his pant's leg was just as stained has his skin.

"So you never saw her?" Rupert incredulously queried as they were joined by a barely conscious Willow who was rubbing her eyes to remove the sleep sand from them.

"Where's Buffy?" the awkward red head asked hesitantly with an expression of deep concern marring her normally smiling face.

"That seems to be the pertinent question of the morning," Giles responded as he once more turned his attention to Xander. "Angel couldn't find her?"

"He didn't find a trace of her," the dark haired teen replied. "He insisted that The Master was still trapped in the hellmouth like his vamp-corky-self. Said that he could feel him but nothing on the Buffster. We stayed there so we could help her when she showed up but she never reached the entrance to the cave."

Both Willow and Giles frowned.

"But then where is she?" Willow questioned giving words to all their fears.

Exasperated, Xander threw his hands into the air. "I have no clue!" he cried. "She isn't at home. I checked on my way here. The place was dark and no one was home. Not even her mom."

Xander began to pace in the small space between the card catalog and the shelf of periodicals.

"She didn't go to Dead Boy's apartment. She isn't home. She isn't here. She wasn't in the tunnels. She isn't anywhere!"

Before anyone could respond to the irate rant, the telephone in Rupert's office shrilly sounded. The trio turned towards the sound with expressions of incomprehension on their collective faces. The phone rang once again.

"Perhaps that is Buffy now," suggested Cordelia from her reclining position. The boisterous arrival of her classmate had woken both the preppy teen and the neo-pagan but neither had felt compelled to join the confusion at the library entrance.

When the phone rang a third time, Jenny arose from her seat and shuffled to the office. She answered it just as it rang for a forth time.

"Sunnydale High School Library," she calmly stated as she ran her free hand through her hair to improve her disheveled appearance. The computer teacher frowned slightly. "Yes, Rupert Giles is available. Can you hold please."

Jenny set the receiver on the cluttered desk and stepped from the Watcher's office.

"Rupert, a rather stiff sounding English gentleman named Quentin Travers wishes to speak with you," she informed the librarian.

For a moment, no one moved. The agitated color on Gile's cheeks disappeared as he instantly paled. The older gentleman swallowed then took a deep breath before moving towards his office. For a moment, he stared at the phone and resisted the urge to just disconnect the call. Whatever Travers wanted to tell him could not be good. Apprehensively, the Watcher picked up the telephone handset and greeted the caller.

The other four occupants of the library followed him and stood in the doorway. They silently watched as Giles spoke with the unknown British man. They moved closer together as Giles became increasingly agitated, and the normally reserved librarian's speech became disjointed. When Giles pulled his glasses from his face and dropped them onto the desktop, Willow took Xander's hand seeking comfort. Shivers of dread ran up all their spines as the flustered Watcher shifted from stammering librarian to a harshly cussing menace. As vicious words flew from the normally sedate Brit's mouth, silent tears began to fall from Willow's eyes. Xander fought the urge to scream as his friend clutched at his hand even tighter.

After a particularly inventive and crude demand that left no question as to where and what Giles wanted the other Brit to go and do, Rupert slammed the handset back onto the telephone base. The plastic casing cracked under the force of the blow. Violent shudders quaked in the Watcher's body for a moment as he closed his darkened eyes. After a few deep breaths where the distraught librarian resumed control of his formidable temper, he opened his hazel eyes and turned to his four companions.

"There..." he started but his voice cracked. Giles cleared his throat and swallowed once more. Despite all his years of training and his predominately traditional English upbringing, Rupert was ill prepared for this moment. After another deep breath he tried again. "That was the head of the Watchers Council."

Another deep breath gave the rattled man the strength to continue. "A new slayer has been called."

Silence reined in the library for a number of heartbeats. Shock and distress weighed too heavily in each ones hearts to allow for anything more than an immediate visceral response.

"Just great," complained Cordelia with the harsh honesty that typified her everyday demeanor. "Now who is going to keep us from being vamp-chow?"

"Shut up, Cordy!" Xander ordered as he formed a shaking fist with his free hand. Disillusionment, anger and self-doubt plagued his grief. All the teen could think was that there should have been something he could have done to protect Buffy. Beside him, Willow started to sob as the loss of her vivacious best friend took hold in her heart. Ms. Calander gathered the crying teen into a supportive embrace as Cordelia actually obeyed Xander's curt directive. After all, a new slayer had been called. What was left for them to say?


	2. Chapter 2

"You the seer?" a pale stranger questioned in a guttural English voice that easily cut over the quietly lyrical Italian floating around the periphery of the scrawny monk's attention. The jittery man raised his dark eyes from the screen of his overworked laptop. From the appearance of his workspace with its overabundance of paper scraps and empty cups, it was obvious that the gentlemen with the computer had been in the internet cafe for an extended period of time. He squinted at the interloper and wrinkled his nose and forehead as if the question required deep consideration.

Finally, a light seemed to register in his dark glaze.

"Hmm, not the wolf. Are you the leopard or the kid? Maybe the calf?" the Italian countered in heavily accented English instead of answering the question. The dark-haired man laughed at some personal amusement when the bleached blond foreigner looked offended at the seemingly bizarre response. A hint of hysteria crept into the sound.

The blond stiffened. After the years spent with his reality challenged love, he recognized the sound as an amusement at facts and figures unseen by the eyes of the predominately sane population. The blue-eyed Brit glared at the cackling crackpot. Just as sharply as it started, the laughter quelled. For a moment, the eyes of the Italian holy man seemed to glow as his forehead and jaw contracted in agony. A painful hiss escaped the dark-haired man's lips before the glow dissipated.

"Hmmm, you were the fatling but now... now the world tilts..." the suddenly tired gentleman whispered harshly before he shrugged. The tension left his body. He sighed as if he faced the inevitable. "Yes. I am Luca. You have someone you wish me to meet, correct?"

The foreigner nodded.

Luca took a final sip of his cooled coffee. He typed a simple message into a global email. Without a word, the monk hit send. The Italian closed the program and stood. He offered his visitor a resigned smile while motioning that he would follow him.

The blond frowned. He hadn't expected the holy man to follow him without a scuffle of some sort. His dark eyebrows drew together as the passing frustration nipped in his thoughts. The Brit would have enjoyed a bit of a row before dragging Luca back to his dark princess. The lack of anticipated action made the demon in the man's guise antsy.

When the monk joined the pale blond in the moonlit street, Luca raised his eyebrow questioningly to encourage his inevitable companion's thought into words.

"You're just leaving your stuff?" the handsome foreigner inquired curiously.

Again, Luca offered his companion a resigned smile.

"I shan't need it once I meet your dark seer," he replied with no hint of fear despite his obvious realization of just what his companion was from the moment he raised his eyes from his computer. A slight nod of acknowledgment and a knowing smirk greeted the monk's calm statement. For a moment, the normally expressive blond remained silent. Although the largest part of him surged with the exciting thought of the holy man's impending death, a small part of the demon respected the strength in his impending victim's character and faith. For the briefest time, the blond vampire contemplated simply scaring Brother Luca and returning to his lover empty-handed.

One thought of his ailing goddess and the unexpected desire abandoned him. The vampire would do anything for his beloved dark princess. His fleeting respect for the man paled in comparison to his adoration of his Wicked Plum.

"Hurry along," the vampire barked as he grabbed the holy man and hustled the older appearing Italian through the dimly lit streets of Cortona. The pair slipped silently down stone-lined paths where only the darkened doors and windows of tightly packed townhouses marked their passage.

Without a pause, the British blond stopped by an arched doorway. Like its adjacent neighbors, the narrow home was at least three stories. The arched front doorway had a single stone step to reach the recessed threshold. The windows on the second floor were shuttered tightly although the steep building walls and narrow street would allow for little direct light to burn away the shadows. Above the windows, an architectural whimsy of an angel leaned out from the otherwise plain exterior. As his demonic companion opened the door, Lucas raised his eyes to the blank gaze of the weather-pitted stone angel.

"Under the eyes of angels," the monk murmured with a tired sigh.

His companion snorted as he too raised his eyes to the decorative statue.

"Your angels may watch," the predatory young man stated gruffly as his grip tightened painfully on Lucas' arm. The monk lowered his eyes from the holy figure and gasped as he saw for the first time the demonic face of his undead companion. He shuddered at the rough facial ridges, feral eyes and exposed fangs now visible by the light from the open door. He barely noticed as the vampire continued. "But demons? We do."

Almost faster than Lucas could register the words, he was pulled from the darkness and into his doom.

* * *

"There is still no one at the Summers' house," a beyond exhausted Xander expressed as he dropped unceremoniously into one of the sturdy library chairs. With a sigh, the teen lowered his weary head until it rested on the wooden table. After two separate trips to the unoccupied home of his friend, Harris found his body almost as numb as his mind.

"When no one answered this time, I tried the door," the teen explained into the table. His warm breath fogged on the tabletop as Xander mumbled into the wood that the front door had been unlocked and that he found no sign of anyone in the house. He added that he still had not seen Mrs. Summers vehicle in the driveway for either visit.

"Well, she wasn't at the gallery either," Willow replied as she gently patted her best friend's back. The timid redhead had been unable to reach anyone at the art gallery where Buffy's mother worked. The answering machine only stated that the store remained closed for the day. She left two different messages asking Mrs. Summers to contact her at the library but there had been no reply. The feelings of loss and frustration made both teens feel ill and disjointed. As tears formed once again and streamed down her cheeks, Willow rested her head against Xander's bent shoulder. Silently the two childhood friends tried to find solace in each others physical presence. Little peace was to be found though since they could only seem to feel the obvious absence of the third member of their friendship hug.

Once more, the slamming of the phone echoed from Gile's office. The glowering librarian stomped from his private space. As he passed the circulation desk, the irate British man shoved the large globe from the edge of the high counter. The wooden sphere and its base shattered on impact. Pieces scattered across the floor and Rupert kicked the largest debris from his path on his way to join his two teen companions. The rumpled man who still wore the same suit that he had dressed in three days ago tried his best to contain his rage as he faced the remaining Scooby gang. His heart felt too distressed to do justice to the needs of the two teens depending on him to be their mature mentor.

Earlier in the day, Cordelia and Ms. Calender had finally left the library to return home but Willow, Xander and Giles were unable or unwilling to leave until they had discovered the answers regarding their missing slayer. Despite their efforts, Buffy's ultimate fate still remained shrouded in mystery.

"What do we do, Giles?" Willow pleaded with their mentor. Her obvious need for direction or encouragement dripped from her words and stabbed into the librarian's already tattered heart.

Unable to deny the facts any longer, Giles pulled his glasses from his face and set them on the table. His normally eloquent voice lowered to a gentle tone that better matched the softened edges of his now blurred vision.

"We go home. We shower. Change our clothes and rest. And when we are ready, we remember Buffy as the vibrant girl she was. We rejoice in the time we had to share with her. We are all better for having had it."

"Can't the council..." sobbed Willow as she once more tried to avoid accepting the horrible loss of her best female friend.

"No, Willow," Giles gently but firmly halted her thought. He once more placed his glasses on his face and the heart-broken expressions of the two students returned in fine detail. "There is nothing that the Watcher's Council can or will do. When one slayer falls, another is called. It is the way is has always been."

"Could the council have any way to tell us what happened?" Xander asked in a flat voice. "Or where to find... where to find her body? Oh God... her body..." the teen gasped in an almost panicked cry as tears began to finally run down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, but no," the librarian replied helplessly. "I mean, maybe the Coven could have... well... been able to do something to find out but... they aren't about to help us now."

"Why not?" Willow questioned and the adult grimaced.

"I somehow doubt anyone at the Council will be overly accommodating to any request I make after I told the director to go bugger himself."

Xander stared blankly at the librarian as he processed the Brit's statement. Out of habit, Willow leaned close to his ear and whispered what the British slang term meant.

"Soda-huh... oh!" Xander replied as his eyes opened wide as he moved his gaze from his helpful friend to the normally proper Watcher. "Yeah... I can see how that might cause some less than helpful results."

* * *

"Willow Rosenberg," called the cultured yet obviously annoyed voice of the timid teen's often absentee mother. The redhead stiffened with her hand still on the exterior door into her bedroom. Anxiously, she glanced at her mother who was sitting stiffly at her desk. Willow softly closed the french door that led from her room to their sheltered porch and leaned against the white frame. The sorrow overwhelming her thoughts prevented her from really caring about why her mother felt the sudden urge to make her presence known.

"You were out all night," accused Shelia Rosenberg from her perch.

Willow raised her green eyes to meet her mother's gaze.

"I was at the school library," the sixteen year old explained softly.

Shelia's lips compressed before she stood.

"Somehow I doubt that, Willow. Adolescents show marked proclivity to demonstrate their independence of parental guidance by seemingly innocent undertakings such as sneaking out at night. I doubt it had anything to do with educational endeavors but that is to be expected of someone your age."

"But I was in the library. You can ask Mr. Giles," her daughter tried to stress but her lecturing mother never even acknowledged her words. Shelia just continued to talk over her daughter's explanation.

"I take it you attended a party? Wasn't there some sort of social function last evening being sponsored by the school?"

Shelia picked up the Sunnydale Press newspaper which she had folded open to the local news section. The disconnected mother tapped the article featuring information about the dance held at the Bronze on Friday night.

"You should have informed your father or myself that you were attending the dance and after-party. I expect better of you in the future. We need to know where you are so that when we receive calls from irate mothers that we know how to properly address the inquiries."

Shelia turned to leave her daughter's room without allowing her daughter to comment on her statements.

"Obviously, you were not at Bunny's home if her mother was calling here in the middle of the night looking for her daughter. The woman was unaware of where here daughter was and expected us to know where she was. Such irresponsible parenting," the arrogant woman muttered hypocritically as she exited her daughter's room. Not once during the conversation did she notice her daughter's distress. In her own clueless world, Shelia Rosenberg abandoned her child once more. She left behind the folded newspaper on Willow's bed. Beyond tired, the teen kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the bed without even changing her clothes. She swept the Sunnydale Press from her bedspread and pulled the edge over her body. The paper fell to the floor with the local police report facing towards the ceiling. Willow never noticed as she curled around her pillow and drifted into sleep.

* * *

"Miss Summers... Miss Summers," a soft voice called into the darkness. Into the nothingness that embraced her completely, Buffy opened her eyes. She found herself perched on one of the hard, high stools from her biology classroom. The seat was positioned behind the dark topped table like in the science lab but the rest of the room seemed to fade into the surrounding glow of nothingness.

"Miss Summers, are you with us?" the voice prodded once more.

"Um, yeah," she replied automatically as her gaze skittered from the expanding glow of nothing to the small, grey-haired man who stood on the opposite side of the table.

"Mr. Gregory?" Buffy whispered in confusion as she recognized the strangely alive appearing biology teacher who had been the first non-librarian faculty member at Sunnydale High to offer her any type of real interest. The teen worried her lip nervously between her teeth as she recalled the last time she had seen this specific teacher. He had been quite dead and quite headless. Neither distressing point seemed to have carried through to the nothingness realm in which the slayer found herself.

Her lip quivered slightly.

"Am I dead?" she whispered to Mr. Gregory.

The kind-hearted gentleman removed his glasses and polished them with his dark tie.

"No, my dear. Simply dreaming."

"Oh..." the blond replied with a confusing mixture of disappointment and relief. "If I am dreaming, wouldn't it be better for you to be, I don't know, Brad Pitt?"

The teen grinned mischievously.

"And there could be ice cream. Brat Pitt and chocolate ice cream. That would be a nice dream."

In the blink of an eye, the kindly biologist became a handsome actor dressed in a white lab coat and a mammoth chocolate sundae complete with whipped cream, nuts and two cherries appeared on the dark table.

"Eep!" Buffy exclaimed as she jumped at the sudden transformation. The girl slipped from the stool and fell gracelessly to the floor. Masculine laughter chased her decent to the ground and her face flamed in embarrassment. From her position on the floor of seeming nothingness, the slayer stared up at the actor who was almost maliciously enjoying her bout of clumsiness.

"I think I liked Mr. Gregory better," the teen muttered as her hands moved to rub her sore bottom.

"Of course you do, Miss Summers," the kind teacher replied as he appeared by her side and offered her a hand.

"You're not Mr. Gregory," Buffy stated with conviction as she allowed the unknown entity to assist her to her feet.

"You would be correct," the entity replied with a kind smile as Buffy settled once more onto her seat.

"So what's the what?" the slayer prompted curiously as she picked up the long silver spoon beside the opulent dessert. Absently, she twirled the piece of silverware in her hand much like she would a wooden stake. She frowned. "Couldn't you have picked someone else to be? And don't I have some place to be?"

Her spoon sounded against the crystal bowl.

"And is this safe to eat?"

The fake Mr. Gregory removed his glasses once more and breathed on them before rubbing them against his now light colored tie. "I could have been others. There are many emotional ties to people that you could trust but I did not want you to have too much memory rush to return at one time."

The frown on the blond slayer's face intensified as she tried to probe her memory for anyone else she might trust. She gasped as she realized that all her thoughts seemed to have melted into the same blank nothingness that surrounded the limited scene. Buffy realized that there was obviously knowledge in her mind and natural reactions that flowed into her consciousness as needed. If not, she would not be able to even speak let alone remember she liked to dream about handsome movie stars and that she liked her previous biology teacher. That she liked chocolate never came into question. Like the smooth movement of her hand with the spoon, she figured it was instinct. Chocolate was that good.

Straying from the innocent image of her favorite sweet treat, Buffy Her heart began to pound and her breath quickened as panic invaded her consciousness. Beyond her limited sense of self identity and the small glimmer of her former biology teacher, the teen could remember nothing solid about her life. The lack of anything was beyond frightening.

"Where am I!" she demanded as she jumped to her feet. "Why have you brought me here? Why can't I remember anything?"

"Please, Miss Summers," the concerned entity coaxed as it moved around the table towards her.

As if it were natural although she did not know why she did so, the teen brandished her spoon like a weapon as she backed away from the faux Mr. Gregory. Clenching her fists and concentrating with all her might, Buffy tried to remember something about herself. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought mentally to find a memory on which to latch her attentiveness. She began to shake as the limited physical scene around her flickered. Like someone turning on and off a light switch in rapid succession, the nothingness shifted between the simple biology room to a room lined with books around a large heavy table. The entity likewise flickered between the fake teacher and other man who Buffy could not remember but knew at the core of her essence that he was important.

Mentally, the slayer scrambled for the identity of her watcher as she fought against the iron-like clasp the entity held on her memories. Outmatched but unwilling to surrender, Buffy's eyes rolled back and her body collapsed as her mind rebelled. Her body began to seize as the nothingness seemed to grow to engulf the fallen slayer.

"What a fighter you are, my dear," the entity whispered to the teen as the seizure ended and even the smallest portions of the slayers awareness faded once more.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey..." a mellow voice called into the nothingness.

Buffy scrunched her nose a couple times before opening her eyes. This situation felt mildly familiar but the pretty teen could not place why. The utter unknown factor of the situation offered no reason for the girl to struggle with her strategically missing memories. Accepting the situation at face value since it felt natural and offered no conflicting memories that led to other missing thoughts, the slayer decided to investigate further. Senses tuned, she found herself reclining in the softest grass she had ever felt. The earth beneath seemed to radiate a comforting warmth and Buffy could not resist shifting her hands across the inviting plant covered ground. The teen transferred her gaze from the fresh green plants, down her legs, and to her feet. Near her fashionable ankle boots, a weather-beaten picnic table sat. Buffy lifted her eyes further and encountered a pair of scuffed boots. Unlike her impeccable designer footwear, these boots were well worn work boots with heavy tread and frayed laces.

"Hey," the owner of the boots called once more.

Buffy raised her gaze further to meet the slightly smirking gaze of a green-eyed male that she estimated to be around her age. The left side of his mouth quirked higher as the blond turned to see if the redhead with the spiked hair was speaking to her or someone else. When all Buffy saw was more grass and a bright expanse of nothingness, she turned back to the young man. Since no one else was present, it was obvious the cute young man was addressing her. Feeling uncomfortable from her weaker position on the ground, the teen gracefully moved to her feet. She brushed her pants to remove any stray dirt or grass even though nothing marred her pristine white pants.

"I don't know you," Buffy stated.

"Not yet."

"Are you a friend?"

"Potentially," the male replied as his fingers moved over the strings of his unamplified electric guitar resting against his chest. For a few moments, Buffy watched the teen's chipped black nails as his fingers stroked the strings of his red and white instrument.

"You're a musician?" the pretty teen inquired as she settled onto the picnic table beside the unknown male.

"Sometimes," the guitarist admitted succinctly before adding a bit of self deprivation. "When my delusions escape their cage."

"Modest too much?" the blond replied jokingly as she clasped her hands together. When she lifted her eyes to her potential friend, his hair was no longer red. Instead, it was a pure black that made him appear almost deathly pale. His clothes had changed from dark jeans and a dark t-shirt to baggy blue jeans, a white t-shirt and an unbuttoned dress shirt. The worn boots remained in place as did the dark nail polish. Accepting the change as just a natural progression in this strange world, the slayer sat with her own thoughts for a moment.

Her companion quirked his lip after her joking quip but remained silent.

"So why are you here?" Buffy asked after sitting silently for less then a minute.

"Answers."

"To my questions or yours?" the pretty blond responded. The soft sound of fingers moving over guitar strings was the only reply.

"Guess mine," Buffy finally responded when her stoic companion failed to answer. The now strawberry-blond haired male just tilted his head slightly forward in a barely perceivable nod as if to encourage her to continue. Once again, his clothing had changed with his hair color.

"You know, this would work way better if you just, I don't know, talked?"

A chuckle from a source other than her companion seemed to caress the slayer's body. Buffy's breath caught because she wasn't sure if the reaction was pleasant or painful. Her eyes closed for just a moment but when they opened, the short musician was no longer sitting beside her. Instead, a slightly older man dressed in what the teen knew to be outrageously outdated formal wear stood beside her. Instead of the picnic table, the blond teen now found herself seated on a stiff couch with a thick almost velvet like cushion. The thick red fabric was stiff under her questing fingers. The teen raised her gaze from the ornate furniture to the overdressed young man.

"Perhaps this will work better, Miss Summers," the stiff gentleman offered quietly in an articulate yet soft British accent. His conversation was extended while staring at his dress shoes instead of her face.

Although she was unable to remember any specifics regarding the scene from an obviously other era, Buffy realized that the man, unlike the previous music-skilled teen, was a number of years older then her. It didn't stop her from addressing him in a casual manner.

"Are you a potential friend, too?" the blond inquired of her timid companion.

Almost overly eager, the gentleman lifted his head. He smiled hopefully. Buffy's breath caught in her chest and she just resisted whispering an unconscious response to the gorgeous blue eyes that lit with excitement at the prospect of being her friend. Even the slightly geeky glasses perched on his nose could not detract from the liveliness in the gentleman's expression. His eyes coupled with his accent innocently appealed to her. Unconsciously, her hand moved to her hair to ensure that she looked presentable. A soft blush rose across her cheeks and she smiled a bit nervously.

"I certainly hope so, Miss," her handsome companion replied before he too began to blush. To hid his reaction, the gentleman fixed his attention over the pretty teen's shoulder to avoid meeting her direct gaze. "I should quite enjoy pursing your acquaintance if you would be so inclined."

Buffy giggled at the gentleman's very precise speech. Despite being once again empty of her personal memories, something about the young man's voice gave her pause. Much like having a word stuck on the tip of ones tongue, it was as if his speech pattern reminded her of something or someone but she could not find the right connection.

"So why are you here?" she inquired before motioning him towards a seat on the couch. The older man glanced about as if confirming that no one would accuse him of untoward action by sitting beside the inviting young woman. He then perched himself on the seat stiffly as if anticipating the need to flee quickly.

"I wish to assist you in understanding what is occurring, Miss Summers."

"I think I have done this before. I'm dreaming, right? What are you doing in my head?"

The young man tilted his head just slightly as he considered her words.

"I dare say that you are dreaming, as am I, but we are not exactly in your head," he replied. "Nor am I in mine."

Buffy snorted and informed her overdressed companion that if she was dreaming then it had to be in her head.

"If this was a normal dream, you would be correct. Alas, your dream is both in your head and in the Vacuity."

"Vacuum-y what?

"Vacuity, Miss Summers," the gentleman stressed. "It is the place before and after, outside and inside, was, is and will be."

Buffy giggled.

"Ok... I totally want back that cute musician guy with the changing hair. He might not have said anything but at least he made sense."

For a moment, her companion seemed confused. The entity he represented was unsure if the slayer was being flippant or earnest with her request. Once again, his head canted to the right as the entity pondered the need to change persona yet again. The scene flickered between nothingness and the Victorian era setting.

The amusement on Buffy's face fled.

"No... wait. I didn't mean it," she pleaded as the thought of losing this chance at understanding not only what was happening with her but also her sense of self again tightened her stomach in an uncomfortable manner. Unconsciously, the pretty teen reached for the older man's arm. Her fingers grasp his wrist firmly and her palm brushed warmly against his bared skin. Her companion's breath caught and the world froze for a heartbeat as the man reeled from the unexpected touch.

Finally, he swallowed then nodded in acceptance of her request to stay. The entity's persona had always been a sucker for a pretty damsel and the entity could not help but react in the same manner as it wore the essence of her temporary body.

For a moment, Buffy smiled radiantly before returning to a more somber and serious mien.

"So, share-age?" the teen prompted.

"You were Chosen," the man's voice stated with obvious disdain dripping from the words. "The Powers took your freedom with their version of destiny. You have jumped through their hoops enough. I wish to offer you a choice."

At the mention of the word Chosen, Buffy's heart rate raced. The thumping in her chest became uncomfortable as her breath began to escape is short bursting gasps. Fear washed over her entire body as adrenaline released. The pretty teen began to shake. She stood and assumed a fighting stance although she did not consciously recognize it as a preparation for battle.

"What am I choosing?" Buffy nervously demanded. Her instincts warred within her body. The physical response served to further confuse the blond. She was unsure why she was reacting in such a manner and so began to struggle for her missing thoughts once more.

Although manners would force him to stand when Buffy arose, the entity overwhelmed the vessels preferred response. Instead, the Great Power held its puppet's hands up in an attempt to convince the distressed female that he meant her no harm.

"I just want to know if you wish to rest," quietly offered the entity through the lips of the Victorian gentleman.

Buffy snorted.

"How should I know?"

The teen relaxed her fighting stance. Although her feet remained in a ready stance, she crossed her strong arms against her chest and a truly annoyed expression marred her features.

"You are keeping me from knowing who I am. How can I know if I want to rest? I don't even know if I'm tired."

The entity lost control of its vessel for a second as the gentleman giggled in a rather ungentlemanly manner at the petulant antics of the pretty blond. He pulled his wire frame glasses from his face and pulled a crisp handkerchief from one of his pockets. While attempting to compose his inappropriate outburst of amusement, the gentleman absently cleaned his glasses.

Buffy caught her breath as she stared at the efficient movement of her companion. Once more, her heart rate escalated and her breath labored. She began to finely tremble. Buffy stared hard at the hands carefully cleaning the eye ware and she knew that the hands and the glasses were wrong. Forcing her formidable will onto the feeling of wrongness, the slayer concentrated on the action and the elusive memory. Just like her previous experience with attempting to force the memories to return, her mind sluggishly found against the nothingness that welled inside. Refusing to yield, Buffy fought for the coveted memory.

"NO!" shouted the suddenly distraught gentleman as he dropped his spectacles and handkerchief to reach for the trembling teen.

The nothing shimmered and Buffy remembered another British man. He was older and less formally dressed but still out of date in his attire. Buffy gasped in confusion as the memory shimmered back and forth from the young man now cradling her in his arms and her unidentified watcher. As she struggled to remember, a thin trickle of blood dripped from her nose. It trailed in a sharp red line across her upper lip and down her cheek towards her ear.

"Please stop," pleaded the soft English voice. "You are hurting yourself."

Buffy concentrated on the concerned blue eyes swimming in and out of focus directly above her face.

"I need them," whispered Buffy desperately. She had to make her companion understand how important it was that she be returned her memories. She knew that she needed them in order to properly make decisions and plan a way out of this confusing dream place.

"But they will hurt you, Daughter," whispered a voice inside her head.

"Don't care," the teen huffed as she pushed herself weakly up from the man holding her tenderly. He allowed her to go without a fight.

Buffy rose shakily to her feet. She placed her hand on the shoulder of the still kneeling gentleman while she regained her ability to stand independently. Buffy removed her hand from her companion's strong and convenient shoulder. She clasp her arms around her strangely chilled body. The teen glanced around at the vibrantly bright nothingness that now surrounded her and the entity-abandoned vessel.

"You offer me a choice but you leave me with nothing to choose. You hold from me myself. I can't take a test without the material," Buffy proclaimed then took a gamble. "If you don't provide the facts, you're no better than the Powers and their hula-hoops."

"Fine," snapped the Englishman who had remained by her feet. With an unexpected flourish, the gentleman rose. He reached forward and gently cupped her cheek. His expression faded from his face as the entity surged forward and finally allowed Buffy's memories to soak from the fog of nothingness and back into her mind.

Silent tears coursed down Buffy's cheeks as she welcomed the wave after wave of childhood memories. Both the happy and the sad were welcomed with open arms and appreciation. The entity allowed everything to return except the final hours of her life. Those the entity held in reserve to be returned only if the slayer chose to resume her previous existence.

When the onslaught of thoughts finally receded, Buffy stood more confidently despite the threat of the still nothingness that surrounded her. A slightly irreverent smile sneaked across her face.

"Peachy... Now we can talk."

* * *

Blue eyes opened to stare at the cracked ceiling. Without even moving his hand to the empty spot beside him, the vampire knew that his lover no longer remained beside him. Although she offered no physical warmth to the bed, her presence always filled the vampire with a mental warmth and a strength of purpose. He felt less when she was gone from his presence and more alive when she was near.

"Dru?" the bleached vampire called as he shoved off the confiscated silk comforter.

"Dru, Luv?" he called again as he slipped into a pair of black jeans. Leaving the pants unfastened, the compactly muscled demon padded barefoot from the bedroom and down the stairs. He followed the soft murmurings of his dark princess until he found her laying naked on the expensive Persian rug in the middle of the modernly decorated living room.

"Feeling better, Pet?" the blond inquired as he sunk to the floor beside his sprawled lover. Since their confrontation with an angry mob in Prague, the couple had been traveling everywhere Drusilla's visions led them in order to seek a cure for her ongoing weakness. "Did the monk give you the boost of energy we had hoped?

Drusilla shifted just slightly so that her lover could catch the gaze of her dark eyes. He could see them but he immediately realized that his princess was not seeing him.

"Oh, My Spike," the beautiful vampire chortled with glee as she began to dance on the ground to music only she could hear. Her body moved with a sinuous seduction that seemed to enthrall her besotted companion. The male's body responded to the luscious feast before him and he would have shucked his pants and joined his love in bliss on the carpet if she hadn't continued to speak.

"The shutters are open and the sunshine warms our frozen hearts," Drusilla whispered huskily as she raised her hands above her body as if warming them in the unseen light.

Spike cast a quick glance across the room to confirm that the windows and their shutters remained safely closed. With Dru, the British blond could never be sure if she would do something as dangerous and unpredictable as opening the shutters herself if the pixies floating in the air or the stars in the sky or the nasty gremlins under the bed told her to do so. In relief, he found the room was undisturbed by her flights of fancy. All the furniture remained in place and Drusilla's ragged collection of dolls remained clustered on the ornate marble mantel above the unlit fireplace.

"We are safe in the dark, Dru," the vampire promised his softly humming lady. He reverently smoothed her tangled dark hair away from her face.

Suddenly, Drusilla bolted into a sitting position.

"Miss Edith says we must choose," she proclaimed as she grasped Spikes forearms roughly. His pale skin whitened further under her impassioned grip. Her blood red nails bit into his skin and created little crescents of matching blood wells. "Choices and choosing... Chosen and chances."

"What choices, Pet?" Spike prompted as he sought to focus his lover's vision on something useful.

"The new Chosen One dances homage with Shiva."

A light burned in Spike's blue eyes and he grinned in evil anticipation.

"Shiva... the new slayer is Hindu. So India, Pet?"

Drusilla giggled as she placed an imaginary crown on her lover's head.

"In Delhi, William the Bloody wears his third crown. A bloody king for a tarnished crown... crown... crown... crown..." the naked vampire repeated as she became increasingly agitated. She began to shake and cry. Spike immediately attempted to sooth her but she thrashed in his grasp. "A bloody crown and no cake for princess."

Her hand flew at Spike's face. A harsh crack ripped through the air as she struck her lover on his cheek. Drusilla scrambled from the British vampire's grasp screaming at him that he would have all the cake and leave nothing for her. She ranted that he would be a king and she would be nothing. She shrieked that he would forget her and leave her to burn.

Horrified at the harsh accusations which eclipsed his momentary thrill at knowing he could take his next slayer soon, Spike rushed to subdue his frenzied companion. He bore her blows and vicious tongue and teeth until finally able to wrap her securely in his arms. He forced her to the hard wood flooring and pinned her hands against her chest as he pulled her back against his now scratched and bitten chest. Softly he whispered in Dru's ear in an attempt to calm her. He promised her all the cake she could eat and jeweled crowns for her beautiful head. He promised that he would never leave her to harm. He promised his love and devotion to the woman who gave him life though his heart ached that she would believe him capable of ever harming her. She was his everything. He would never leave her to burn as long as he still possessed an unlife.

Finally, the dark haired vampire allowed the blond to sooth her into a relaxed and quiet state. When she attempted to move, Spike released his punishing hold on her arms. She turned in his arms and snuggled against his bloodied chest. Drusilla's tongue darted from her mouth to slowly lap the crimson streaks. Spike shuddered under her rough tongue's ministrations.

"A crown for me, a crown for you," whispered Dru as she rubbed her cheek against Spike's healing chest. "Mummy's the lamb and we'll pop the cork and drink champagne in hell, my knight."

"If that's what you want, Luv," Spike promised as his hands trailed softly over Drusilla's cool skin.

"We will go where you want," he whispered as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Choices and Chosen," Drusilla murmured against the skin of his neck before she licked along his pulse line. Spike moaned softly in anticipation.

"And the Angels won't just watch," the vampire muttered as her face shifted form and she sunk her fangs into her lover's waiting flesh.

* * *

"Yo, Oz-man... wakey, wakey," called Devon as the lead singer for Dingos Ate My Baby companionably smacked his friend on the shoulder as he finally strolled into his friend's garage. As usual, the singer had been late to arrive for practice and the lead guitarist had allotted the down time for grabbing a quick nap. Although not normally prone to sleeping during the day, the red-haired teen had felt the overwhelming urge to curl up in the discarded lazy-boy gathering dust in the corner of his parents' garage.

"Glad you could make it," their drummer called as he happily tossed aside his losing poker hand onto the pile of washers and screws that the other band members had been using as chips in their make-shift gambling game.

"You didn't miss much," the bassist added as he too dropped his cards despite holding the winning hand with his full house.

"Well, except for sleeping beauty's dream. Must have been a floozy-doozy," the drummer added with a teasing grin. "I think he almost cracked a smile for a moment."

Devon laughed and pounded his short friend on the back as he demanded to know about this world changing dream. The singer rambled about fantasies of scantily clad women with large breasts for a while before finally refocusing on his friend.

"So?" Devon demanded with an expectant look as he stared at his buddy.

"Yeah, there was a girl," Oz responded with a slight smirk of amusement as he moved to retrieve his guitar from its stand.

As expected of the rowdy teens, his band mates clamored for him to expand on his fantasy girl. They pressed the musician about the topic while he hooked his red and white instrument into the amplifier and settled himself into position. When Oz finally tired of the ranting, he succinctly reminded everyone that they really needed to practice.

"Aw, come on, man," whined Devon "just give us something about your dream girl."

Oz stilled as he thought for a moment. With a slight smirk, he finally replied, "Potential."

"Huh?" the drummer complained. "Potential? What the hell does that mean."

"It means just that. She's got potential," Oz confirmed before blocking the remaining questions from his mind and concentrating on his instrument.


End file.
